Where There's Smoke
by OpheliaKitt
Summary: When something is secret, there's usually danger, and when a musketeer goes missing there's usually trouble... An entry into August's Fête des Mousquetaires.
1. Chapter 1

It had been raining off and on for much of the day as he removed his cloak and entered the tavern. Casting a wary eye around the room Athos was quick to locate Aramis seated at a corner table.

A pretty barmaid was leaning suggestively across from him as she held her tray against her hip. His playful eyes were bright as she leant even closer towards him so he could whisper something in her ear. Athos had no idea what Aramis may have said, but the girl giggled and blushed deeply, her eyes dreamy and a wide grin spread across her face as she turned from the man and practically tripped over her own feet as she walked away but continued to glance back his way. A sly wink from the musketeer elicited a little squeal and the girl retreated to the backroom to gather her wits.

Aramis chuckled as Athos stepped towards the table and helped himself to the bottle of wine that topped it.

Aramis grinned at him as he took his seat.

"And here I thought you'd never arrive," Aramis said wistfully as he lifted his glass to his lips, still smirking at Athos from across its contents.

"I apologize," Athos said, his lips and eyebrows quirking as he fought a grin. "I can tell that you were desolately alone without me. Tell me, what promises did you make that poor girl?"

"Promises? Never Athos. I simply complimented the beautiful Cossette on her choice in dress this evening. The colour brings out her eyes," said the marksman with a grin.

"The problem is, I believe you to be telling the truth," he replied with another quirk to his lips.

"It's a gift," Aramis said raising his glass. Athos raised his and the two men drank.

"Have you seen Porthos?" Athos asked as Aramis refilled their glasses.

Aramis raised his eyebrow at the swordsman across from him. "I was actually about to ask you the same thing," he said.

"Treville sent him on a mission earlier today. I had assumed he would be back by now," Athos mused.

Aramis' brow furrowed as his eyes grew darker with sudden concern. He distractedly swirled the remaining contents of his glass. "He should have been. He was only delivering a letter for the King across the city. You know it's not like Porthos to miss a meal…"

"Perhaps he was waylaid at the garrison," Athos suggested.

"He could be tending to a lame horse…or perhaps he was cornered by Serge and his endless recollections of past battles," Aramis said hopefully. Athos nodded and finished the wine.

Rising, he tossed a coin down on the table. "Shall we?" Athos asked. From the corner of his eye he saw the barmaid pout as Aramis rose to join him. Aramis nodded, worry for their third apparent on his handsome features as he led Athos out of the tavern.

oOo

Once at the garrison, Athos and Aramis made a beeline for the kitchens only to be disappointed by the absence of their tall and swarthy brother.

"Haven't seen him," Serge confirmed. "Tha's why there's leftovers fer once!" said the old cook with a grin that faded when he saw the concern on the two men's faces. "He can't be much longer. Who knows? Maybe Porthos met a lady tonight…The two of you ain't 'is mother, ya know?"

Aramis let out a slight chuckle, the tension easing slightly from his frame as he smiled at the old cook.

"I suggest the two of you find somethin' t'entertain yourselves. He'll be right in the mornin'. You'll see," Serge said. "Jus' stay outta trouble," he added as he realized to whom he was speaking.

As they vacated the refectory, Athos looked at Aramis. "Perhaps Serge is right," Athos said with a raised eyebrow. "It's not necessary that Porthos check in with us if he's…made other plans."

"No," said Aramis with a slight grin and a raised eyebrow of his own. "It's not necessary…it's just customary." He let out a soft chuckle as he threw an arm around Athos. "Well, mon ami, let's see how much trouble we can get in without getting into trouble."

Athos quirked his eyebrow again and as he let Aramis steer him from the garrison.

oOo

The next morning was rough.

Athos sat at their usual table, his head resting heavily in his hands, cursing the sunshine that, having been absent for the past few days, returned in all its splendour to mock his aching head.

Aramis bounded over to join him at their table, insufferably cheery.

"How are you feeling?" he asked brightly. Athos replied with a glower. Aramis beamed back at him, seemingly incensed by Athos' grumpy mood.

"Come now, it's a beautiful day," he said.

Athos stared at his companion. "How are you not tired? You were up as late as I was and were the one buying the wine last night."

"True, but I was not the one drinking it. You drink too much, mon ami," said Aramis with a grin as he ducked the punch Athos threw his way. Laughing, he handed Athos a glass of water and scanned the courtyard. "Have you seen Porthos yet this morning?"

Athos shook his head and straightened as he too surveyed those lingering in the courtyard of the garrison.

As they watched, the sound of horse hooves could be heard approaching. Athos surged to his feet immediately as the horse came into view. With an alarmed look that had Aramis' stomach dropping to his feet, Athos charged from the table, Aramis tight on his heels.

An aggravated snort greeted them. Porthos' horse, Flip, was tossing his head angrily in the garrison courtyard. He reared, pawing the air with his front legs as the stable boys drew back from the agitated horse.

"Flip," breathed Aramis as he rushed forward despite the obviously angry stallion. Athos was on his other side.

"Flip," said Athos sternly as he and Aramis approached the horse with their hands out. The horse steadied and swung his head towards Athos and glared, stamping his feet on the courtyard floor. Athos reached out his hand, palm flat. Flip snorted again and brought his nose forward to bump Athos' hand. The swordsman cautiously stroked the horse's nose as he reached forward to grasp the reins.

Porthos' saddle had slipped from the horse's back. Aramis quickly unfastened it and handed it to a waiting stable hand. Aramis hissed as he ran his hand gently along the horse's side.

"Athos, Flip's been hit," he said indicating the furrow mark on the horse's flank. The horse reared again as Aramis' hand lightly brushed the injury. Athos soothed the horse and Aramis gently wiped the blood from the animal. Handing the reins to the stable hand, Athos looked concernedly at Aramis.

"Something went wrong. We need to speak to Treville," Athos said and without another word he led Aramis up the stairs towards the Captain's office.

oOo

Athos knocked sharply before entering the office without waiting for a response. Treville looked up from his paperwork, slightly shocked at the boldness of his typically stoic lieutenant; this was an action he expected more from the more volatile Spaniard at his side.

"Something's happened to Porthos," Aramis blurted out without preamble.

"His horse returned rider-less. He seems to have been grazed by a bullet," Athos said, his eyes appraising the Captain. Treville stood at these words.

"You're certain? Porthos isn't just at a tavern somewhere?"

"Porthos wouldn't abandon his horse," Aramis said fervently.

Treville nodded, He frowned deeply, furrowing his brow as he raised his hand to stroke his chin – clearly something was troubling the Captain.

"Captain," said Athos, rousing Treville back to the present. With a sigh he looked at his men.

"Porthos was sent on a covert mission on behalf of the Crown. He was carrying a precious document to the Comte de Varone. He was to remain with the Comte until he had received a reply and then return promptly to the King."

"He was sent alone?" Athos asked, eyebrow raised.

Again, Treville frowned. "The Cardinal insisted that only one man be sent. It was to make the delivery as inconspicuous as possible."

Aramis shifted where he stood. The threat to Porthos was clearly aggravating him, and his eyes promised violence to anyone who may have threatened or injured his missing brother.

"What was in these letters?" Aramis asked.

Treville looked gravely at them. "The King has decided to reward the Comte by enlarging his estate. Porthos carried the deeds to the property of the Baron de Broule, whose lands were seized when he was hung for treason last year."

Aramis and Athos frowned. They remembered the execution of the Baron and the questionable circumstances that surrounded his arrest and sentencing. At the time, Athos, Aramis and Porthos were away on a mission, so the case and the façade of justice had fallen to the Red Guard to execute. In the end, the King was pleased thinking he had punished a traitor, further strengthening his reign under the praise (and control) of the Cardinal. That the Comte de Varone was an old friend of the Cardinal's did not escape the musketeers' notice.

"This deed," Aramis said, "It entitles the bearer to the lands?"

Treville nodded. "The King and Cardinal did not feel it necessary to stipulate the landowners name on the title…"

"Making that letter Porthos carried extremely valuable. Anyone can claim the land with that deed," said Athos.

"Making Porthos a perfect target for attack," Aramis finished.

Treville frowned even more deeply. "No one was to know what Porthos carried – not even he knew. Nor do we know if he was even able to complete the delivery. I shall need to report this to the King."

"It seems he may already be aware," said Athos as a messenger from the King arrived at the garrison gates.

oOo

The musketeers stood stunned before their King.

"The evidence does not lie, Treville," Louis said as he regarded his Captain. At his shoulder Cardinal Richelieu fought to suppress the smile that was curling his cruel lips. His intelligent eyes sparkled with malice as he glowered at the Captain and his musketeers.

"Where there is smoke, there is fire, Treville. Your musketeer stands accused of robbing from the crown. When he is caught he will be executed. I will have every man focussed on apprehending this criminal and bringing him to justice," said the King.

"Quite right, your Majesty," said the Cardinal. "An example must be set. Your justice will be fairly delivered to this treasonous musketeer."

"Sire," said Treville, casting a quick glance back at the men at his side, warning them to bottle their anger, "I know Porthos. There must be some sort of a mistake. His horse returned injured to the garrison this morning. Give us some time to investigate and retrieve what was taken."

Louis looked thoughtfully at his Captain. "Very well. You have two days Treville. After that, Porthos' life is forfeit," he said and he exited from the throne room. The Cardinal lingered only long enough to cast a smug grin at Treville and his men before sweeping after the King.

Treville turned on his heel and spun to face his men. With a warning glare he strode from the room with them on his heels. He marched down the hall and had just entered the courtyard when Athos and Aramis' patience came to an end.

"He can't be serious!"

"Porthos would never do something like this!"

"He can't do this!"

Treville turned to face his men. His hand moved immediately to console the bridge of his nose as he took in their aggravated protestations in defence of their brother.

"Unfortunately, he can do this and he can be serious," Treville said gravely as he lowered his hand from his face and locked eyes with the pair.

"Captain, you know Porthos!" cried Aramis. "You know he would die before betraying the crown! No man is more loyal or values his commission more!"

Treville's eyes flashed in warning at the dark-haired marksman. "I would trust Porthos with my life," Treville said. "The fact remains, the circumstances are not in his favour. The Comte claims that Porthos never arrived. By all accounts, it looks as though Porthos is guilty."

"You can't believe that, Captain!" Aramis protested throwing his arms out at his sides.

"Of course not!" snapped Treville, his blue eyes blazing. "That's why you two need to find him and get to the bottom of this."

Aramis lowered his hands to his hips where they rested by the handles of his pistols as he glared back at his Captain, his own dark eyes bristling with anger and determination.

"The evidence provided is purely circumstantial," Athos said, breaking the standoff between his brother and their Captain. "I sense there's something underhanded in all of this," he said.

"It reeks of the Cardinal," Aramis muttered angrily.

The Captain gave a curt nod. "I see no reason for Porthos to have run off with this missive from the King. Find him so we can prove his innocence." A stable boy approached the group leading Roger and Bella, the musketeers' horses. They mounted, still facing their Captain. "Porthos was to deliver the letters from the King to the Comte de Varone. Find him. We have two days. I will try to buy us more time."

oOo

Athos and Aramis rode from the palace gates towards the Comte de Varone's Paris home. As they approached the part of the city known as Marais, Aramis' eyes continuously swept the rich sprawling streets and doorways as they rode past.

He suddenly leapt from his horse and stooped before the mouth of an alleyway that was partially obscured from the main road. Pulling out his dagger, Aramis dug into a darkened part of the street.

"Blood," he muttered raising his blade to show Athos.

Athos frowned. "That alley is hidden from the main road. An attacker could easily lie in wait before launching their ambush."

"This is a good neighbourhood. It's unlikely Porthos was attacked without someone seeing something," Aramis said.

"True," said Athos. "The blood may not even be from Porthos. Come. The home is not much further. We shall need to confirm for ourselves whether Porthos reached his destination or not before we can assume the worst."

oOo

It was dark. Too dark. Dark and damp.

The cold stone floor and walls were hard against Porthos' back and left him chilled to the bone. There were no windows in the cellar, but there were manacles and Porthos growled in frustration once again as he pulled at the device that had him chained to the wall. He hissed slightly as the metal cut into his wrists.

It seemed he had been searched before being imprisoned, and so had none of the tools he often carried about his person that would have made picking the lock on his restraints a possibility. Without his tools he would need to use the key – or miraculously pull himself free somehow.

The lack of windows meant that keeping track of time was also impossible. Porthos was almost certain he had been imprisoned for an eternity, though realistically it may have only been a few hours – and even that was hard to confirm as his aching head reminded him. The lump on his forehead was one of the only clues as to how he had arrived in this cellar.

He had awoken to find himself chained to the wall; if he wanted to, Porthos could almost count time by the rhythm the lump was pulsating. His face was stiff where the blood had dried on it and there was an ache in his side making breathing difficult which hinted at some ribs being at least bruised or cracked if not broken.

Porthos closed his eyes and lay his head against the cool wall hoping to relieve some of the pain from the lump. "Think," he muttered. "How did I get into this mess?"

He had been returning to the garrison…

No, that wasn't right. He had only set out from the garrison in the late afternoon. Captain Treville had requested that he deliver something of great value to the King as covertly as possible. Something...a letter, Porthos remembered.

Did he deliver it? Did he make it that far?

He remembered riding through the stately neighbourhood. He remembered the eyes of the people – even the servants – who seemed to watch him warily. He shook his head and regretted the action instantly as the dark world swirled around him.

The letter…he wouldn't have surrendered the letter without a fight.

Feeling again the hot pulsing of his forehead and the pain that flared in his side every time he inhaled, it seemed likely that some kind of fight had taken place.

He remembered nearing the home.

The sun was setting.

He was intending to meet Athos and Aramis at the tavern later for dinner. His stomach grumbled, as it had then, thinking about the chicken stew that he knew was to be served that night. For a second Porthos wondered how long they would keep him imprisoned and if they would be feeding him. He would typically try to eat a good meal first if he was intending to be captured.

He remembered that Flip was antsy. The streets were emptying as people went home for the evening or set about preparing the meals for their masters and mistresses.

"Flip," breathed Porthos as he remembered the gunshot. It was unexpected and Porthos had no time to determine where it had come from when suddenly he was launched over the end of his horse when Flip reared. He had landed hard and had felt the boot to his side before he had been able to correctly determine which way was up. "So, there was a fight," he muttered, turning so his back was pressed against the wall again.

He remembered smashing two foes together and delivering a vicious blow to another as he tried to regain his feet. That was all he could remember of the fight though. After that was just excruciating pain and darkness as something made contact with his head and stars exploded before his eyes before fading to black.

And here he was, in this too dark darkness, cold, sore and chained to a wall.

He hoped that he was still in Paris. He hoped that Athos and Aramis would be able to find him soon. He hoped that Flip was alright. Mostly though, at that moment, as the ache in his stomach made itself known again, he hoped he could escape the confines of his cell…and he hoped his captors might consider feeding him.

oOo


	2. Chapter 2

Athos and Aramis approached the sprawling urban estate of the Comte de Varone up the long marble lined drive on foot having been instructed to leave their horses at the gates to preserve the expensive paving stones.

A massive fountain decorated in gilded leaves stood before the home's main doors where two guards stood behind a valet dressed in crimson livery. Every aspect of the home seemed designed to lord its opulence over its visitors in a vulgar ostentatious way. Aramis raised an eyebrow at Athos' low growl as they climbed the stairs leading to the front entrance.

"Deliveries are to be made to the kitchen doors only," snapped the valet as he looked down his nose at the Musketeers ascending the stairs below him. Aramis hesitated for a fraction of a second, caught off-guard by the valet's open hostility. Athos forged ahead until he was eye-level with the man. The bright blue eyes pinned the man with their most derisive stare.

"We are not here on a delivery. We are conducting an investigation in the name of the King. Where is your master?" Athos said, his voice coated in anger and condescension.

The valet raised his eyebrows – shocked by the tone of the intense musketeer. He glanced quickly behind him to where the guards stood. They tightened their grips on the handles of their rapiers. Aramis grinned at the guards, his hands casually moving to rest on the handles of his pistols.

Recovering, the valet asked Athos, "The Master is unavailable. Do you have an appointment?"

"Do representatives of the King need one?" Athos asked narrowing his eyes further.

The valet snorted at that comment, and Athos lost what little patience that remained for the man. Seizing him by his lapels, he pulled the valet towards him until their noses were mere inches apart. The guards made to draw their swords but a blur behind him and two soft clicks let Athos know that Aramis had both pistols drawn freezing the goons in their tracks.

"One of his Majesty's Musketeers has gone missing while attempting to deliver something to the Comte. We will be returning in one hour. I suggest you have someone ensure your master is available – unless you think he would prefer to be dragged and bound before the King for questioning," Athos snarled and pushed the man away from him.

"Of course, sir, anything to aid one of his Majesty's musketeers," the valet sneered, straightening his coat, his voice dripping with scorn.

Aramis lay a hand on Athos' shoulder and had to practically pull him down the stairs to prevent him from launching himself at the rude valet. It was rare to see Athos so close to losing control like that.

"What was that about?" Aramis whispered as they strode back towards their horses.

"Nothing. Just the plague of the nobility!" muttered Athos fuming.

Aramis pulled him to a stop before he could mount Roger.

"Athos, we need to stay focused. We will return in an hour and tear this place apart gilded leaf by gilded leaf if we have to in order to find Porthos, but right now we need another lead," he said imploringly, his hand resting on Athos' shoulder.

Athos breathed heavily, staring into the eyes of the plaintive marksman until he calmed.

"Better?" Aramis asked.

Athos nodded. "I apologize," he said briefly, "I didn't mean to react that way."

"If it's any consolation, I think the valet nearly wet himself when you grabbed him," said Aramis.

"It will be once we find Porthos," Athos responded. "We should return to where you found that blood. We can canvas the area. There must have been some sort of witness present." With that Athos swung into the saddle on top of Roger as Aramis mounted Bella and exited the gaudy property.

oOo

Aramis' brow was furrowed. "Do you want to talk about what happened with the Valet?" Aramis asked quietly as he and Athos tethered their horses and began to search the alleyway for clues.

Athos paused, his hand on his saddle. It was as though Aramis could see the cogs spinning in the lieutenant's brain as he considered his answer. "I have a problem with the way that ignorance is spread among the noble class," he said simply. "What makes the nobility different from other men?"

"Well money, property, education, the ability to eat three meals a day…divine right?" Aramis quipped, his smirk firmly in place. Athos smirked in response before shrugging his shoulders.

"It's the idea of betters. As though those with a title are somehow better…like they're infallible…as though they aren't capable of terrible deeds…of pain…of regret…" his blue eyes darkened. Aramis' heart swelled at the obvious hurt in his friend's voice and for the millionth time he wished that he was somehow able to relieve Athos of this pain. "These ideas…they're pervasive and they can infect the entire household. It's more than just pride…it's…wrong," Athos finished somewhat lamely, and sighed in frustration.

"I understand," said Aramis honestly. As the bastard son of a courtesan and a minor noble, Aramis was all too familiar with the pitfalls and judgement of society based on birth. He smiled warmly at Athos. "You have too good a heart, brother," he said, placing a hand on Athos' shoulder.

The swordsman gave a shy smile back. "Come," he said, "there must be something here that can help lead us to Porthos."

oOo

A cold bucket of water had Porthos jerking awake violently. He pulled at his chains in his surprise, the cold metal of the manacles biting deeper into his wrists. The light from the candle seared his eyes after so much time in the darkness. He raised his hands to block the light from his face as he fought the urge to vomit as his head throbbed and his vision swirled.

"Thank you for joining us," said a cold voice from the darkness.

"Let me outta here," Porthos growled.

"In time," the voice replied. Porthos stared in the direction of the voice, but the man stood at the edge of the circle of light cast by the candle. Porthos could see he was tall and broad, but his features were hidden in the shadows.

"What do you want with me?" Porthos growled again.

"A few things," the man said casually. "You were carrying something of mine, something I want back. A letter. Since you didn't seem to have it when we searched you, I'm assuming you stowed it somewhere," he said.

"That letter was from the King. It has already been delivered," Porthos lied.

"No, I don't think it has. For your sake I hope it has not. Besides, it's unlikely that the Comte de Varone would have permitted you onto his property even if you were carrying the King himself on your back. He's not the most understanding or tolerant of men."

Porthos froze as these words were spoken. How did this man know so much about his mission? It was top secret – he hadn't even told Aramis and Athos about its details – only that he was to deliver a letter for the King.

Porthos took a deep breath and tried another tact. "Look, I'm a King's musketeer. If you let me go, we can forget that this ever happened…"

"Well that's the thing, you're a musketeer. You have value."

"The King would never bargain with criminals," spat Porthos.

"No? But what of your brother musketeers? Surely they must have noticed that you've gone missing. How far will they go to save you? What will they do in order to guarantee your release?" Porthos didn't respond. He knew that Athos and Aramis would burn Paris to the ground if necessary in order to find him.

"What do you want?" Porthos said darkly.

"I only want what is rightfully mine. And for you not to die…yet," the man said as he placed a water skin and a plate of food on the floor of the cellar. He turned on his heel and opened the door. Bright light burst into the room and again Porthos was nearly struck dumb by the impact of the lights on his eyes. Two others entered the room and grabbed Porthos roughly as they unlocked one of his wrists.

Instantly Porthos snapped to attention and grabbed one of the men with his free hand. The other was ready though and as Porthos grasped his partner, the man brought his wooden baton down on Porthos' forearm. He howled in pain at the impact and dropped the other man. Both men then proceeded to kick angrily at Porthos' side until an audible crack could be heard. If his ribs weren't broken before, they certainly were now.

oOo

Frustrated, Athos and Aramis rode back to the Comte's estate, leaving their horses once more at the gates and marched determinedly up the marble path. The valet greeted them at the top of the stairs and without a word led them into the study off of the hall. The Comte was awaiting them, seated at a broad mahogany desk.

Athos tensed under the gaze of the Comte and he grit his teeth.

Aramis glanced at his brother and addressed the Comte. "Thank you for meeting us, my Lord," Aramis said, oozing as much charm as possible, "Your home nearly rivals the Louvre." This fly was to be caught with honey, not vinegar.

"Well it should. They were built by the same artist," replied the Comte in a disinterested drawl as he continued to survey the musketeers before him. "Now, what is this about? I'm very busy."

"We won't keep you long. We are investigating a musketeer that has gone missing in the service of the King."

"I'm not sure how that's any of my concern," as the Comte reclined in his chair with his elbows on the arms. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on top.

"The musketeer went missing on route to delivering something to your home," Aramis explained.

"Again, monsieur, I'm not sure how this is my concern?"

"Were you expecting something from the King?" Athos asked bluntly. The Comte's gaze shifted from Aramis to Athos. A servant entered carrying a carafe and a wine goblet.

"Yes, I believe I was. A gift actually. The deed to some lands," said the Comte casually. "Useless lands actually – they used to belong to the Baron de Broule. Meagre, ugly property it is. But one does not reject a gift from the King, no matter how insignificant."

A glass shattered as it fell from the hands of the servant. His arm was trembling and Athos noticed the distinct flash of rage that was in the man's eyes as he stooped to clean up the shattered glass.

"Useless," the Comte muttered under his breath, but otherwise did not acknowledge the servant.

"A Musketeer was attacked and taken prisoner trying to deliver this deed to you. Are there others who would be interested or feel entitled to the property? Is there anyone who might want to tarnish your reputation before the King?" Athos asked tersely.

"What?!" exclaimed the Comte. "Tarnish my reputation?"

"It's possible that this musketeer was attacked to make you perhaps seem ungrateful of the King's gift," said Aramis, catching on to Athos' ploy.

"That's preposterous. I am close friends with the Cardinal and a favourite of the King!" the Comte declared.

"Which makes you a target with much to lose. Can you think of anyone who would benefit from your possible – though unlikely – fall from grace?" Aramis asked, attempting to soothe the Comte who was burgeoning on irate at the notion of any potential embarrassment.

Taking a steadying breath, the Comte replied, "The Baron had a son. I'm not sure what became of him, but if anyone had interest in the property, he would be the only one able to contest my ownership of it. He would need the deed in order to do so."

"Thank you, my Lord. If you can think of anything else, please let us know," said Athos with a curt bow.

"Just a second," said the Comte calling out to Athos. "You – you look familiar to me." Athos tensed again. The Comte paused as he stared at Athos before shaking his head. "No, you all look the same to me. I must have just seen you at court or something like that."

With another curt nod, Athos strode from the study and out the door, Aramis at his side.

"What are you thinking?" Aramis asked Athos as they remounted their horses.

"I think that the Comte is more concerned with his reputation than anything else and regards a 300 acre property as nothing, but I don't think that he was part of whatever party attacked Porthos. He didn't care about the deed and he pays absolutely zero attention to things he believes beneath him," Athos replied.

"Like his servants?" asked Aramis.

"You noticed the anger in the young man too?" Athos asked and sighed. "I think we should see if there are any people near that alley that might point us in the right direction. Then we should reconvene at the garrison to see what Treville knows about the Baron's son."

oOo

Aramis and Athos were having no luck finding clues near the alleyway where they had found the blood. The locals were quiet, refusing to offer any help to the anxious musketeers.

"We don't want any trouble. This is a good neighbourhood. We don't want you stirring up anything else," they said.

Aramis stood at the entrance to the alley looking out at the street, frustrated. As a marksman, he was trying to determine where the shot that had injured Flip could have come from. As he looked out onto the street a carriage pulled to a halt in front of him. A curtain was drawn back and he smiled in surprise.

"Well, isn't this a lovely surprise," a woman's voice purred.

"For me as well, Baroness," replied Aramis as he bowed slightly and kissed her proffered hand.

"Aramis, my love, no need for formalities. My husband is away in the country," she laughed. "Did you come here to see me?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, no," Aramis said. He missed the way she pouted as he glanced over his shoulder at Athos who approached the carriage. "My companion, Athos and I are here on the King's business. Athos, meet Eloise, the Baroness de L'ile."

Athos bowed to her and her eyes brightened as she appraised the handsome musketeers in front of her.

"Do you live in the area?" Athos asked.

"My husband's home is just a little ways along this street. Near the Comte de Varone. As I said he's away at the moment and won't be returning for a few days yet," she said, coyly. Athos blushed slightly and Aramis grinned.

"Unfortunately, my dear Eloise, while we're on duty for the King, we will be unavailable to enjoy your exquisite company," Aramis said with grin and wink that brought a rosiness to her cheeks. "Perhaps you may be able to help us though," Aramis said thoughtfully. "We are looking for our brother, Porthos. He was attacked while delivering a missive from the King in this area. His horse returned to the garrison with a gunshot wound this morning."

"Porthos? Isn't he your tall handsome friend?" she asked, her brown eyes widening. Aramis nodded.

"Did you hear anything yesterday evening? A pistol shot or a horse galloping away?" Athos asked.

The pretty Baroness furrowed her brow. "I'm not sure…I might have heard something from the street... My maid said that she had nearly been trampled last night, but I didn't think anything of it – I thought she was being dramatic."

"Will you allow us to speak with her?" Athos asked with urgency.

"Yes, alright," she responded, startled slightly.

"We are in your debt," said Aramis, taking her hand and placing another light kiss upon it. Eloise's cheeks flushed again under the gaze of the marksman and she smiled at him indulgently.

"Of course. Anything Aramis. Whatever you need," she said breathlessly. Athos gave a small cough and shattered the spell. The Baroness gathered herself and said, "Follow me. Celine should be at home."

Aramis released her hand and with a subtle wink to Athos, the two men mounted their horses and followed the Baroness' carriage to her home.

Celine turned out to be a great help.

"I was returning to my mistress's house when I was nearly run down by the musketeer's horse. He was trying to stand after his horse had thrown him. There were men – three of them – and they were striking and kicking him viciously but he was fighting back until one struck him with the butt of their pistol and he went still. A fourth man pulled a cart forward from across the street. They pitched him in the cart and took off. It happened so fast!" she said tearfully.

"Did you see where they went?" Athos asked.

"No…they turned left coming down the street, but I don't know where they went next," she said, "But the cart had a star and anchor drawn on its side."

Athos stood suddenly and began to head towards the door. "Thank you Baroness, Celine. This has been very helpful."

Aramis made to follow Athos out the door, but the Baroness stopped him. "Will I be seeing you soon?" she asked him seductively.

Aramis removed her arms from around his neck. "My duty calls. Perhaps once we've recovered Porthos if he's able to return to duty..."

"Well then I hope you find him most quickly!" she said as he bowed to her once more and hastened out the door after Athos.

Back outside, Aramis grinned at Athos. "Well, that was helpful. It's a lead at any rate."

"We were lucky that the Baroness saw you and stopped her coach," said Athos, mounting Roger.

"The house looks different in the daylight," said Aramis with a sheepish grin that couldn't quite hide his pleasure. "If the shooter was seated on the cart, that would explain the angle of the shot that graze Flip," Aramis said seriously.

Athos nodded. "We should report our finding to Treville. See if he knows what actually happened with the Baron and his son."

Aramis nodded and the pair set out towards the garrison, riding a little faster than they probably should have, but time was pressing as the sun began to set over Paris.

oOo


	3. Chapter 3

Athos and Aramis rode into the garrison to see a grim Treville standing on his balcony waiting for them.

With an exchange of glances, the duo rushed up the stairs to their Captain's office.

"Gentlemen, report," said Treville taking a seat behind his desk.

"We met with the Comte. Porthos did not complete the delivery. I do not believe that the Comte is involved with the attack on Porthos. He seems to display the ignorance and disregard one can expect from a Comte," Athos said coldly. Treville raised an eyebrow at the bitter tone of his lieutenant but didn't comment on it.

"Anything else?" Treville asked.

"Yes," said Aramis, also casting a wary glance at his brother. "There was a maid – she saw the attack on Porthos. Said he was assaulted by three men that threw him into a cart driven by a fourth. The cart had a star and anchor on it."

"Can this witness be trusted?" Treville asked.

"She seemed like a sweet girl – frightened but honest. She'd have no reason to lie. The Baroness she works for is a fine woman," replied Aramis.

Treville raised an eyebrow at this too but again held his tongue.

"The Comte," said Athos, "He said that the Baron de Broule had a son and that he'd be the most likely person who would consider attacking Porthos."

Treville frowned. "Yes, that does ring a bell. I'll see what I can find out about his whereabouts."

"What happened to the Baron?" Athos asked. "If his son is involved it would be helpful if we could understand his motive."

Treville sighed and pulled a hand down his face where it rested on the bridge of his nose.

"The Baron de Broule had been accused of treason. The whole ordeal was handled by the Cardinal and his men. He provided proofs that the Baron was in contact with the King of Spain. There were letters provided, signed by the Baron which were quite condemning."

"You don't believe he wrote them?" Athos asked.

Treville lowered his hand. "It doesn't matter what I think. The King was livid. He demanded than an example be set to show the others of the nobility that treason would not be tolerated. The Baron was executed publicly." Treville sighed. "These letters, whether legit or not were enough to convince his Majesty that his throne was under attack. That the Baron was a nemesis of the Cardinal and that the Baron refused to confess to writing these letters didn't matter."

"So the Baron's family was stripped of their estate?" Aramis prompted.

Again Treville sighed. "The Baron's family was expelled from the property. He had a son, Renard," Treville said. "His mother, the Baroness, she didn't last long without her servants catering to her. She took her own life shortly after. I don't know what happened to Renard."

"Captain!" called a voice as footsteps were heard on the stairs. Aramis turned and pulled the door open as a cadet entered breathlessly clutching a package. "A man – he just delivered this, then took off before we could question him. He wore a hood and his face was covered."

Treville dismissed the young man with a curt nod and motioned for Aramis to shut the door behind him. Wordlessly, Treville broke the seal on the letter on top of the package – an ornate filigree letter B. Treville's eyes widened as he read the letter. He snorted with disgust and passed the letter to Athos and Aramis.

 _"Captain, I have your musketeer. He will be released in exchange for what's rightfully mine. You have two days. We will be waiting. The Baron de Broule"_

Carefully, Captain Treville lifted the lid of the package that still sat on his desk. Inside was a scarf instantly recognized as the one Porthos usually tied in his hair, and within the scarf lay one severed finger wearing the signet ring of the Comte de Varone.

Aramis ran his hands through his hair. Fear and anger were clear in his dark eyes. Athos lowered the letter onto the desk next to the package with a shaking hand. Both men were struggling to contain their emotions.

"This changes everything," said Athos, his voice shaking with anger.

Treville nodded grimly. "I will go to the King. He cannot hold Porthos responsible now."

"Aramis and I are going after him," said Athos firmly.

"I'll send some others to check on the Comte, but I fear we may be too late," said the Captain.

"We should have known. This whole situation was centred on the deed to this property. We should have paid attention to the signs - guessed that the Comte could have been in danger. We were just there," said Aramis bitterly.

"You couldn't have known. You were trying to eliminate the Comte as a suspect," Treville said.

"I'm sure the Cardinal will see it that way," said Athos sardonically.

Treville grimaced. Scribbling something onto a piece of parchment, he said, "The Baron's estate is nearly a few hours' ride at least. Night will settle in soon. Take this," he said, pouring wax onto the hastily scrawled letter and pressing the seal of the Musketeers into it; it wasn't the Royal seal, but if the Baron didn't look too closely, it could pass.

"Good thinking," said Aramis appreciatively as the Captain passed the note to Athos.

"I'll go speak to the King," said Treville. "Remember, the Baron's expecting you in two days. You have a slight element of surprise, though we don't know what the situation is like at the house – you could be wandering into a trap."

"So the usual then?" Aramis said as he followed the Captain out the door.

"Be careful," Treville scolded. "The Baron has proven that he is desperate and dangerous. There's no telling what he might do or what he may have planned."

Athos nodded grimly as he and Aramis turned to prep their horses for their journey.

oOo

Porthos drifted in and out of consciousness. His ribs, which were aching before were agonizing now after the assault from those thugs. Each breath he took was torturous. With an effort he pushed himself into a seated position. He was sweating in spite of the chilly cellar. Porthos had been around Aramis long enough to know that this wasn't a good sign. His body was going into shock from the pain in his ribs and the blow to his head. He closed his eyes and swallowed in an effort to pull himself together.

He opened his eyes slowly and found the water skin and plate of food that remained untouched. With an effort, he reached with his free hand and managed to drag the food and water closer to him. The surge of pain the effort caused him was only partially improved by the cool water on his parched throat. He took a small bite of the crust of bread and stowed the rest in his pocket with the hard hunk of cheese. His stomach was still effected by his concussion, and Porthos knew he should ration what he could – he wasn't sure if he'd be fed again.

As he slowly chewed the bread, the door opened once more. Porthos could tell it was much later based on the duller light that poured into the room. This time, the door wasn't closed behind his visitor, and Porthos could finally see his captor's face.

The man was tall and broad shouldered, but leaner than Porthos had expected now that he was revealed in the light and not shrouded in darkness. He looked about the same age as he was and had fair hair and bright green eyes. He wore a crested pin in his lapel and a signet ring on his right hand which flashed as he cleaned a bloody dagger with a handkerchief. He returned the blade to a sheath at his side before addressing Porthos.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly as he stood over the musketeer.

"Jus' peachy," Porthos retorted. He was not in a mood to play with this man.

"Yes…sorry about that. My men…aren't fans of musketeers," he said bluntly. "Your brothers have two days. They should have received my package by now. We'll see how much they value your life."

Porthos growled. "Not sure what you're thinkin', but this isn't gonna end well for you. I'm the rational one of my brothers. The other two don't have my understandin' and patience."

The man chuckled slightly as he stepped towards Porthos. Pulling his dagger from his belt, he pressed the tip into Porthos' shoulder that wasn't chained to the wall. Porthos growled in pain and the man smiled. He pressed the blade deeper then twisting the blade, he withdrew it. Blood poured from the wound dying Porthos' already filthy shirt crimson.

"Why're you doin' this? What's in it for you?" he moaned.

"I only want what's rightfully mine," the man said casually. "These lands have belonged to the Broule family for over 200 years, and your King was going to just give them away."

"Your father," panted Porthos, "He was a traitor."

The would-be baron struck Porthos and stars exploded in front of his eyes but he did not pass out. "Lies!" roared the man, Renard. "My father was framed!"

"Oh ya? Why's that?" Porthos muttered, his head rolling.

"You know the Cardinal! You know of his intrigues! My father was growing too powerful, his influence on the King too great. So the Cardinal orchestrated this whole thing to take out his competition!"

Porthos frowned. This sounded exactly like the kind of thing the Cardinal would do.

"Even if that's the case, you've gone about this all wrong. You shoulda petitioned the King," Porthos muttered.

The young man laughed grimly. "You're blind, musketeer, if you think the King would consider my petition. The ruin of my family was a warning to other nobles that the Cardinal, should not be challenged."

"Look, nothing you've done so far can't be undone. Jus' release me and this can all be forgotten," said Porthos. The world was growing hazy and keeping the man in focus was a challenge.

"Oh I don't know," sneered Renard de Broule crouching in front of Porthos. "The Comte de Varone might disagree with you."

Suddenly, Porthos flung his free arm out and grabbed the man by his lapel. "Don't make me kill you too," hissed Renard as he pressed his blade against Porthos' throat.

With a low growl Porthos released the man. "My brothers will come for me."

"Oh, I'm counting on it. The King might not care about your wellbeing, but nothing matters more than family. They'll bring me what I'm owed," he said and sheathing his dagger, he left the cellar. The door was pulled closed behind him and Porthos heard the distinct clicking of a lock.

His dark world spun again and his eyes drifted closed. Porthos smiled slightly as unconsciousness took him again, his fist closed tightly around Broule's lapel pin.

oOo

Athos and Aramis rode hard with whatever daylight was left to them. They paused as night fell and ate sparingly of the rations they had brought with them. They made a small fire, but that was all that their camp consisted of. Both men slept fitfully, concern for their missing brother making the hours until dawn seem to lengthen. They were both up and saddling their horses before the rays of a weak sun could even penetrate the grey skies of twilight.

They pushed their horses hard, and it was only the deep affection that Bella and Roger bore for their riders that kept their feet under them. Both animals were proud and could sense the urgency of their masters as they pushed further and further across the countryside.

It was still morning when the musketeers neared the estate. They led their horses down to the stream for a good long drink and tethered them to a nearby tree. The two musketeers crept closer to the manor home along the edge of the woods that bordered it on most sides.

"Two men at the front door. Another two walking patrol," said Aramis as they observed the home.

"It's likely they're keeping Porthos in the cellar. There must be a kitchen or back door where we can entre more discreetly," said Athos.

"I take it we won't use Treville's letter to enter diplomatically," Aramis said with a grin at his brother.

"Who has the time? We can try diplomacy if surprise and violence don't work," replied Athos drily.

"Suits me," said Aramis. "I'll hold off on using pistols until we've properly announced ourselves," he said with a grin as they made their way towards the rear kitchens.

oOo

It took longer than Porthos would have liked to admit to free his arm from the manacle that kept him chained to the wall. His vision swam before him despite the continued darkness of the room – the candle had sputtered out long ago - partner that with the stab wound to his shoulder which continued to bleed slowly and the agonizing pain in his side which made the simple act of breathing excruciating, and Porthos was lucky to get the manacle off at all.

Slowly he rose massaging feeling back into his hand. He hissed as he felt the abrasions on his wrist. He approached the door carefully carrying the candle holder and the means of his escape, the 3-inch lapel pin he had pilfered from Renard.

He listened for conversation at the door and prayed that there would only be one guard. When no noise was discernible, Porthos threw the tin candle holder against the far wall where it clattered loudly. A grumble was heard and the lock on the door clicked. Porthos held his breath as a the guard entered.

Porthos grabbed him, wrapping one arm around the man's mouth to stop him from calling out and plunged the pin into the man's throat. The man crumpled noiselessly to the floor. Porthos divested him of his pistols and his dagger. With the state of his shoulder, ribs and wrist, it was unlikely that he would be able to do any damage with a rapier.

Porthos waited for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light before he slowly began to move down the hallway to where he hoped the stairs resided.

Pistol shots above him had him pressed against the wall.

oOo

Aramis and Athos had circled around the home and lay in waiting for the guards to pass through the opening in the wall that divided the front of the house from the rear. When they did, Athos pulled one into a chokehold, while Aramis dealt the other a blow with the butt of his dagger and caught the man as he collapsed. They bound the unconscious men, relieving them of their pistols and stowed their bodies near an abandoned sty.

They entered the kitchen stealthily. Voices could be heard coming from a room to the right of the kitchen. Athos looked at Aramis, then, without a word, kicked in the door. Six men sat stunned for a moment as their minds caught on to the presence of the heavily armed musketeers. As one they surged to their feet and engaged the intruders.

Athos burst through door and immediately engaged two men with his rapier and main gauche. A third had already fallen, Athos' throwing dagger finding residence in the man's chest. The men had some skill with a blade and were the quickest to recover from the musketeer's sudden entrance. It seemed as though Athos might have his hands full as he dealt with both men, watching and gauging the movements, scrutinizing them for any weaknesses or repeating patterns. It wasn't long before he had isolated on the way one man seemed to favour his left knee. He managed to push back one man, and with a swift kick to the volatile joint of the other, his opponent sank to the ground where Athos' rapier quickly found purchase in his chest. Vaguely he was aware of pistols firing.

Aramis entered swiftly behind Athos. He too had his rapier drawn, a pistol in the other. He blocked the blade of one man with his rapier and landed a kick to the man's chest which had him soaring backwards. He had just enough time to spin and meet the two men coming towards him. One man had pulled a pistol from his belt and fumbled with it slightly. Aramis fired without hesitation, unflinching as his opponent also discharged his weapon; the shot embedded itself within the wall behind Aramis. Aramis didn't need to look to know that his own shot was true as he met his third attacker with his rapier, the shooter, collapsing clutching his stomach.

Athos was growing impatient with his foe who continually danced on the defence. The man was growing more skittish and clumsy and Athos had more pressing matters to deal with than contend with this man any longer. He feigned a lunge and pulled up at the last moment. The man, expecting the lunge was thrown off-guard in his retreat and stumbled. Athos, however, did not as he stepped forward and ended the man in front of him.

Aramis had just dispatched his second opponent, pulling his sword free of the man's chest. Turning, he located the man he had kicked earlier advancing towards Athos with his blade raised.

"Athos!" called Aramis pulling another pistol from his belt. Intuitively, Athos dropped to the floor as Aramis fired. The blade fell from the man's hand as he fell in a heap at Athos' side.

"Are you alright?" Aramis asked running towards the swordsman and spotting blood on his arm.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch," Athos replied curtly. "I think it's safe to say they know we're here."

"Well we shouldn't keep the others waiting," said Aramis as they pushed through the room to a large foyer centred by a large staircase that led to the floors above and the cellar below.

Another two armed men surged towards Athos and Aramis from an upper floor. They quickly engaged the men, their only focus: to reach the cellar stairs.

oOo


	4. Chapter 4

When Porthos heard the pistols fire he hesitated, trying to determine where they were coming from and whether the shots were from friends or foes. In his heart though, he knew that those shots could only belong to one of two men. With a sudden confidence, Porthos hurried as quickly as his injured body would allow him down the long hallway.

A man came running towards him, sword raised. Porthos fired one of the pistols he had taken from the dead guard and regretted it immediately as the shockwave ripped through his body, jarring each broken rib and the lump on his forehead. The man fell and skidded towards him. Porthos stepped over the body and continued, pulling the dagger from his belt. He came to an open space near the base of the stairs as another man leapt out of the shadows at him, knocking the second pistol from his grasp.

Porthos roared when the man dealt a blow to his injured shoulder which had begun to bleed quite profusely again. He snarled at the man and lunged forward with a deadly swipe with the dagger. The man leapt backwards, just beyond Porthos' long reach. The enemy went for a strike of his own, but Porthos caught the man's wrist and roughly turned it away. The man cried out and dropped his sword as Porthos stepped forward driving the dagger into the man's chest. Panting, he pulled the blade free and stumbled backwards slightly.

"Drop it," said the now familiar and angry voice of Renard de Broule. Porthos heard the click of a pistol and felt the muzzle of the barrel pressed against the side of his head. The dagger clattered to the floor from Porthos' grip.

"Move," Renard said, moving the pistol to Porthos' back and jabbing him with it. He placed a hand on Porthos' injured shoulder and gave it a squeeze for good measure. Porthos moaned in pain and raised his hands as he slowly began to shuffle up the stairs. He was wheezing heavily - the fire in his side was stoked in anger at all the movement.

They emerged onto the ground floor and came face to face with Athos and Aramis; the bodies of two men could be seen lying on the floor behind them.

"Porthos!" cried Aramis.

"Stay back musketeers or I'll kill him," Renard snarled.

"It's you…" said Athos, unmoving. "I know you…you were the servant at the Comte de Varone's."

"You broke the glass…" Aramis said slowly as recognition also dawned on him.

"Did you kill the Comte de Varone?" Athos demanded.

Renard snorted. "That pompous ass deserved it. How dare he think he could claim my family's land just because he's a pet of the Cardinal's!"

"He didn't seem to think much of the place," said Athos coldly.

"Perhaps you might consider redecorating," Aramis said gesturing to the dead bodies behind them.

"Silence!" shouted Renard as he slowly manoeuvred himself and Porthos along the wall in the direction of a door. "I don't think you quite understand the situation at hand," he said and once again put pressure on Porthos' injured shoulder. The big musketeer involuntarily moaned in pain; Athos and Aramis tensed at the sound.

"Porthos, are you okay mon ami?" Aramis asked, voice full of concern.

"'M fine. Jus sore from waiting for you lot," he grumbled.

Athos clenched his jaw. "Stop. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement," he said tersely, lowering his sword; Aramis did the same.

Renard laughed. "Usually an arrangement only works if both parties have something the other wants."

Athos reached into his doublet pulling Treville's sealed letter from his inner pocket. "The deed," he said, "to this estate. It has the King's seal entitling the bearer to the property. Release Porthos, and it's yours. We'll walk away."

Renard's eyes widened. "The Comte…" he said.

"We can say that you killed his murderer and saved Porthos in the process. The King will likely reward you," Athos replied. He shifted the letter slightly in his hands. Renard's eyes fluttered to it again.

In that slight moment of distraction, as Renard eyed his dreams clenched in Athos' hand, Porthos slammed his head backwards into the face of his captor. The sound of crushing bone and cartilage was audible as Porthos lunged forward out of the would-be Baron's grip. Renard staggered back a step, blood pouring from his nose as he raised his pistol.

Shots rang out and then silence.

One heartbeat. Then another.

Porthos turned to look as Renard de Broule crumpled to the ground, the pistol still clenched in his hand. He moved no more.

Porthos turned his back on the dead man and faced his brothers. They stood like mirror images of each other: one smoking pistol clenched in Athos' right hand, Aramis' last smoking pistol clenched in his left. Porthos had one last moment of clarity as he grinned at his brothers before he collapsed to the floor, his brother's voices calling his name echoing in his head.

oOo

Night was well underway when Porthos came to.

He was lying on a chaise, partially upright. The seat's back was supporting him making it far easier for him to breathe. He opened his eyes just a bit and saw clean white bandages wrapped around his wrists.

"How are you feeling, mon ami?" came the concerned voice of Aramis from his side. He felt a cool damp cloth placed on his forehead.

"Better. That's nice. Thanks," he said, leaning into the cold cloth under the pressure of his brother's hand.

"You were in quite a few pieces," Athos said coming into the brawler's view and pressing a cup of water to his lips. Porthos drank deeply. "You've broken two ribs. Aramis is trying to reduce the swelling to the lump on your forehead, and your shoulder needed stitching."

"Thankfully, you were still unconscious for that part," said Aramis with a warm smile. He knew how much his big brother loathed stitches.

"Why am I here?" Porthos asked as his eyes travelled around the parlour they were in.

Aramis and Athos glanced at each other. "There were a lot stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor," said Athos dryly.

"Besides," said Aramis, "I thought the chaise would make breathing easier on your ribs."

Porthos chuckled weakly. "Not strong enough to carry me?"

Aramis grinned. "You are very large, mon ami, and as Athos said, there were a lot of stairs."

Athos also smiled softly. "Rest now. We've got you."

"Knew you would," Porthos muttered as his eyes drifted closed and he fell back asleep.

oOo

They set off around noon the next day.

Athos found the cart bearing the star and anchor by the kitchen doors. He and Aramis lay a nest of pillows and bedding pilfered from the house within it to help cushion Porthos on the ride back to Paris. Porthos was disgruntled at the idea of riding back to Paris in the back of the cart but was mollified somewhat when Aramis climbed in first and settled close to the driver. Athos helped Porthos into the cart and Aramis pulled him against him, so the larger man's head was rested against his chest. He held Porthos with one arm, the other casually resting on his pistol, just in case.

They rode slowly trying to spare Porthos as much pain from the jostling cart as possible. Bella and Roger and two other horses that they had recovered from the property diligently pulled the cart.

It was well after nightfall when the cart driven by Athos pulled through the garrison gates. He leapt from the driver's seat and helped Aramis ease a groggy Porthos from the cart as Treville came to meet them. The look of concern on his face as he took in his bandaged brawler was obvious.

Carefully they settled Porthos into a bed in the infirmary where he fell asleep immediately.

Porthos awoke the next morning with a big grin as the smell of bacon wafted into the room.

"I'm going to pretend that smile is due to seeing us, and not brought about simply by the prospect of a hot meal," said Aramis with a laugh. He couldn't hamper his own smile as he saw his dearest friend recovering.

The three men enjoyed a jovial breakfast before Treville entered and asked for a report.

Porthos recounted all he could of his assault and imprisonment.

Treville nodded grimly. "You will need to present yourself to the King," he said. A trace of worry lingered in Treville's eyes.

Porthos nodded and rose from the bed. "Well, no time like the present," he said.

The four men headed out to the stables where a snort and a stomp greeted Porthos.

"Flip," he said grinning. "How are ya fella?" he said stroking the horse's nose. His eyes narrowed at the furrow mark that was healing on the stallion's flank. "Sorry I got you hurt boy," he whispered, "But I knew I could count on you to find your way back here, to keep it safe."

The other men stared at Porthos as he stroked his horse with one hand while he reached under his saddle with the other. From a hidden pocket sewn into the leather on the underside of the saddle Porthos pulled free an envelope bearing the Royal seal.

"Is that –" began Aramis.

"- the deed," finished Athos.

Porthos grinned at his brothers and his thrilled Captain.

"You said to keep the letter a secret," said Porthos handing the envelope to Treville, "And secret usually means danger. Where there's smoke, there's fire, I always say," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Wincing slightly from the pain of his ribs, Porthos pulled himself into his saddle with the help of his brothers and readied himself to face the King and the Cardinal.

oOo

At the palace, Porthos stood before King Louis who sat upon his throne, resplendent in gold brocade. The Cardinal glowered behind him like a menacing dark cloud threatening to dampen the brightness of the sun.

"You have done exceptionally well, Porthos," said Louis with a clap of his hands as he accepted the return of the property title.

"I'm sorry I was unable to complete the delivery, your Majesty. I hope you weren't concerned for the security of your letter," Porthos replied with a slight bow.

"Of course not," said the King brushing away any concerns or doubt. "I trust my musketeers entirely," he said, causing the men before him to grin, while the Cardinal's dark scowl grew from behind their monarch.

"Yes, well, you were unable to protect the Comte de Varone," the Cardinal admonished.

"Yes, that is quite unfortunate," said Louis, shifting slightly to look at the Cardinal. "But these things happen. If the villain was posing as a servant within the Comte's quarters, it is better that the delivery was unsuccessful, otherwise the man would have killed the Comte anyway and taken off with the deed," the King reasoned.

"Besides Cardinal," said Treville testily, "I heard that you have taken possession of the Comte's home and lands. He had no heir, I believe."

"A donation to the church and to France, Sire," the Cardinal oozed.

"Excellent!" said Louis, "Paired with the Baron's estate, our coffers should benefit exquisitely. Good job Cardinal, Musketeers. Now, Porthos, make sure you are rested and recovered. I expect to see you back on duty as soon as possible," said the King as he swept from the room with his retinue chasing at his heels.

The Cardinal threw an annoyed grimace at the musketeers before he too exited through another door in the direction of his study.

"Do you think he was more involved in this?" Athos questioned the Captain as they exited the throne room.

Treville sighed. "I don't doubt it. It was the Cardinal's intrigues, after all, which started this whole episode with the execution of the Baron."

"The Cardinal seems particularly adept at causing trouble for us," said Aramis as he supported Porthos down the steps that led from the palace, "and if he's even remotely involved…"

"What is it that you always say Porthos?" asked Athos with a small quirk to his lips.

Porthos grinned as he mounted Flip. "Where there's smoke, there's fire."

oOo


End file.
